What Next?
by MsCongeniality
Summary: This is a series of nine short oneshots. Each is centered around the thoughts of a different character and has the general theme of considering what to do after the quest and presumably the series is over. Hope you enjoy!
1. The Wind

(Based on Manga events, set as Kagura watches over Gouryoumaru but before Hakudoshi shows up at the end of Chapter 361)  
  
Kagura's eyes moved from her charge and the bars before him to the rows of rakanzou which truly kept him in check. A sour look crossed her face and she expressed her frustration with a short puff of breath. She was as much prisoner here as he, set to this task as a means of keeping her and her loyalties under observation.  
  
She pursed her lips slightly and thought of her driving goal - freedom.  
  
Kagura's hand closed into a tight fist, and her expression deepened into a frown. She was no halfwit, it didn't take much to see that this farce they'd been forced to play out would soon be over. Naraku held most of the Shikon no Tama and soon he'd either use it and obliterate his opponents with the power it brought, or that mismatched group of do-gooders would do what seemed impossible and overpower him, taking it for themselves. The actual fate of the jewel was almost a secondary consideration for her - the only thing that mattered was her heart and what she might do if she could get it out of His clutches. Then and only then would she have that freedom.  
  
Her expression relaxed somewhat and she raised her fan, resting it lightly on her chin as she lost herself to her train of thought. She chose not to consider that her Master might succeed; she chose this moment to focus on what might happen if, against the odds, he didn't. If her heart was truly her own, well...what then?  
  
In all her scheming, in all her desire to rid herself of the yoke she suffered under, she hadn't really spent enough time considering what she might do afterwards - where her place might be. After all, the wind is fickle and subject to change.   
  
She frowned once more and her brow creased as she began to weigh her options.  
  
A youkai born of a hanyou, independent and willful. A child of the wind who was not of the kaze-no-kami. Which of the taiyoukai lords would accept such a creature into their service or even tolerate it within their domains?   
  
It seemed the Lord of the West would sooner kill her as an annoyance or an extension of her master than accept her as an individual. The others were less personally involved, but they still had no cause to grant her the privelege of serving as their vassal. More to the point, could she even bear the obligation implied in such an arrangement? And if not, what then?  
  
What then, indeed.  
  
The wind is fickle, and subject to change. There would be time enough to revisit this once she actually gained her freedom.  
  
Kagura smiled to herself with one last thought and she mouthed the word without giving it voice.  
  
"Soon." 


	2. The Jewel

My struggle continues.   
  
Centuries have disappeared and I remain locked in my final battle.   
  
Soon my spiritual and ideological descendants will reach the end of their quest and face the one who holds my fate and uses my power to supplement his own. On that day, I will finally find release.   
  
I'm not sure when it was that I lost the piece of me that was pure, the woman who cared so deeply for human life and sought to protect it so fiercely. Perhaps it is an effect of the evil deeds that taint the prison I created, or it could simply be the weight of decades that have caused me to turn callous.   
  
The why no longer concerns me.   
  
Nothing does.   
  
Whether the Shikon no Tama is used for 'good' or 'evil', I simply long to be freed. 


	3. The Woman

A/N: Just a quick note to thank my wonderful beta readers Therhoda and Nabob.  
  
Also, I would like to thank my lone reviewer Ashe Nightingale – because I can!  
  
Oh, and for the record I really don't own anything. All characters belong to Rumiko Takahashi.  
  
Really.  
  
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It was a quiet afternoon, warm and pleasant - the perfect day for a journey. 'Which makes it all the more remarkable,' the young monk thought to himself, 'that we never seem to cross paths with anybody unless they need our help.'  
  
A burst of laughter from up ahead brought him out of his thoughts, and Miroku took the opportunity to leave idle thoughts aside and turn his gaze towards his traveling companions without fear that his attention would be mistaken for anything more inappropriate than curiosity.  
  
The girls walked side by side, with Kirara perched on Sango's shoulder and Shippou riding in the basket of the bicycle Kagome pushed along. Their leisurely pace had already been the cause of more than a few snide comments from Inuyasha but, perhaps sensing the lack of bite behind the words, the girls did no more than give halfhearted apologies as they continued along without hurry. At a glance, it seemed Shippou was doing his best to encourage the relaxed and jovial mood because the little kitsune's body language clearly showed that he was telling a tale, and in the grandest style possible for one who had yet to lose his milk teeth.  
  
Miroku nodded to himself in silent confirmation - that explained the laughter. The little trickster was certainly good for providing moments of relief from the unrelenting seriousness of their ongoing mission, though for one so young he had an uncanny knack for providing just the information that would damn a man and none of the details that might redeem him. As if in response to his thoughts, Sango suddenly turned to glance at him over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed and brow set. That left no room for question about just exactly what the subject of this latest tale was. Lowering his eyes away from the taijiya's dark gaze, he sighed and turned his face rather than rise to the bait.  
  
Denied his opportunity to watch the small knot at the center of the group, Miroku focused instead on the lone figure some distance apart from them. Inuyasha walked on ahead leading the formation, his face presumably set in his customary scowl, as he put up a front of annoyance at being distracted from their mission. Miroku briefly allowed himself a small smile as he thought about that. After so many weeks in his company, he knew Inuyasha better than the hanyou would have admitted.  
  
The truth was that Inuyasha was too responsible a leader to truly keep pushing them when it was clear that a break was long overdue. As a result, they were headed back to Kaede's village for several days of rest and a trip home for Kagome. The monk's smile lingered because he knew the latter was the true reason for Inuyasha's poor mood. Perhaps the hanyou was thinking about that himself, because it seemed the rest of them managed to escape being growled at directly for a change. With Inuyasha's 'gentler' attitude, and having no particular urgency to their travel, it was really no surprise that the others' moods seemed to have taken a decidedly pleasant turn.  
  
The girls' laughter continued in sporadic short bursts along with an occasional surprised exclamation from Sango and an accompanying quiet murmur from Kagome, which was undoubtedly an explanation meant to mitigate the damage the child was doing to his already tarnished reputation. His grip on the shakujou tightened slightly and a look of annoyance crossed his features. He briefly considered offering a few words in defense of his actions, but quickly decided against it. 'The last thing I need to do is spoil the mood by picking an argument I don't have a chance of winning,' he thought.  
  
Finally, he just determined to ignore them altogether and fixed his gaze loosely on the road in front of him. He began preparing for a light state of meditation - altering his breathing, relaxing body and mind as he attempted to pull his thoughts inwards away from petty concerns to concentrate on.... His thoughts trailed off and he briefly closed his eyes.  
  
Bringing his gloved hand up to brush his hair away from his forehead, Miroku sighed and turned his attention to the scenery at the side of the road. He might be named for a son of enlightenment, but Miroku was all too aware of his own failings where the realm of earthly pleasures was concerned, and he wasn't going to be able to properly clear his mind when there was such a pleasant distraction mere yards ahead of him.  
  
Of course that sort of distraction was precisely what had upset Sango and prompted that icy glare just a few moments ago. While his reputation for shamelessness hadn't especially bothered him before, the idea that Sango might think less of him based on his slightly.... Miroku paused again in his thoughts, his grip on his shakujou tightening and a small frown briefly marring his features before he adopted his composed countenance once again. No, if he was to be honest with himself, he worried about her reaction to his _extremely_ checkered past. The thought of Sango losing respect for him bothered him in ways that he wasn't quite ready to admit to himself.  
  
Not yet.  
  
His face remained calm, but a dark shadow touched his eyes and he looked down to his gloved hand. Flexing his fingers slightly he felt the gentle pull at the fabric across his palm as he continued thinking. After all, the problem with 'not yet' lay in the likelihood that the time to consider might well never come. With each use of his kazaana decreasing his lifespan, and the very real possibility that he might not survive to have his final confrontation with Naraku and lift the curse, everything had to be considered in the here and now whether he was prepared to deal with the consequences or not. Shaking his head slightly in an attempt to banish such morbid thoughts, Miroku turned to face forward again and took a moment to distract himself by watching the girls in front of him.  
  
Sango and Kagome still seemed to be chatting but Shippou had quieted for the moment, increasing the chances that the topic of conversation had shifted away from anything that might get him into further trouble. Their postures were uncharacteristically relaxed and occasionally one would turn towards the other, presumably with a comment or an answer for her companion. His eyes lightened and his small smile returned as Kagome gestured with her hands, very obviously describing some sort of clothing item. Just watching them have such a simple, unguarded, normal journey acted as a balm for his troubled mind and he allowed himself to continue watching these precious moments. His gaze shifted from Kagome back to Sango's...figure and the smile broadened almost of its own accord. But then, what man could look on such a woman and** not** be taken with her? The smile threatened to break into a grin and he looked down once again so they couldn't accuse him of leering.  
  
Perhaps this was, in fact, the time to start considering Sango and the obvious effect she had on him. The questions inherent in 'not yet' might not seem as insurmountable or as bleak when the very air around him was so obviously filled with companionship and good cheer. It could only be fortuitous to contemplate a pleasant future in such an atmosphere.  
  
A future.  
  
The thought shocked him back from his nascent fantasies and to a more schooled expression. He hadn't really thought beyond ending the curse or wanting to live to grow old. What he did while growing old, how he lived that life, had never really been a consideration. Now that his individual quest assumed true purpose as part of a larger battle he and his companions fought together, now that he had real hope of defeating Naraku, he realized that he needed to take time and direct his thoughts to that question. Assuming there was a possibility he could have that normal life, what might he want to do with it?  
  
The future was not something he was used to considering in any depth, it was not the sort of mental exercise his father or Mushin had ever dwelled upon. Miroku's eyes narrowed and he looked down to his cursed hand once again. Now that he was considering the question, he realized that he did not know what kind of future his father had wanted for himself or for his son, apart from the lifting of the curse. He had been too young for such conversations when his father was taken by the winds, it was just another of the many things time had robbed them of a chance to share. He thought about the solitary existence the two of them had led, alone in their travels or at the monastery with Mushin. He wondered if his father once had these same desires, not just for momentary pleasures but for a real future, a future with someone.  
  
Miroku's eyes lifted towards Sango again and softened. She had beauty, strength, and intelligence. She would be a challenge to any man over the course of a lifetime, and she deserved a lifetime. Nothing less would suffice. With so much sadness and loss in her life already, it would be cruel to bring love into her life only to have it torn from her by an early (if somewhat spectacular) death. Love and a life with Sango. Was that the future, the 'not yet' he'd been avoiding considering?  
  
He turned away again as the realization struck. He really had hit upon the true reason behind 'not yet'. The truth, as long as he was admitting it to himself, was that he already knew what he wanted. He did want Sango, and a life together. A long life for the both of them, filled with stubborn arguments, happiness, love and family and entirely free of pain. He would not be able to admit this desire to anybody else, least of all Sango. He couldn't tell her of these wishes until he was sure he wouldn't be the source of that pain.  
  
Not yet.  
  
Once more adopting his usual mask of calm good humor, Miroku quickened his steps and closed the distance between himself and his companions. A touch of mischief lit his eyes and his fingers flexed slightly in anticipation as he approached the ladies. 'After all,' he thought. 'There's no use in planning my entire future now, and in the meantime I do have a lecherous reputation to uphold.'


	4. The Fighter

_A/N: Not actually what I had planned for my next character, but a combination of factors have been drawing me to Kohaku's story. (A mention of interest from K Nighthawk didn't hurt either...)_

_As before - many, many thanks to Therhoda and Nabob for acting as betas and keeping me on track._

* * *

Forgetting.

It had been...so easy, so much simpler to allow himself the tantalizing peace.

That had all been shattered, though. With her face came knowledge, responsibility, and understanding of what he had done.

With her face had come his freedom, the ability to accept what had happened, and perhaps even gain a measure of revenge at having been used so poorly and for so long. He'd been used for such foul purposes.

Those dark acts, committed by his hand.

Not by his will, but still by his hand.

Those acts would continue to weigh on his soul - until he could see his way clear to revenge.

For that, he would remain strong. For that, he would face the demons within that were so much more frightening than the demons without. For that, he would tap into the strength that Chichi-ue had talked of – that he'd never believed he possessed. Perhaps in revenge he could become the fighter, the man his Chichi-ue had believed he could be. And then...

And then.

And then he would die, but he'd die a taijiya. He would die a fighter and not a demon's pawn.


	5. The Director

My puppets have made this all too easy; setting myself as the devil the virtuous must defeat was a laughably simple task. As my tale progressed, each played its part and the plot has built towards its climax. Now, we near that final moment when I am finally able to realize what I have worked toward, what I created them for.

The script will play its course, as their imagined triumphs have only served to bring them closer to me, binding their fates closer to my own. When I remain as the sole victor, the sole survivor of this carefully crafted show, it will be time to move on to the next stage—to the building not of my power, but of my empire.

The ambition of a human and the power of a youkai create a potent combination indeed. No longer fettered by humanity, my stage will become larger and instead of ragtag adventurers I will hold warlords and nobles in my thrall; it will be towns and regions that live or die by my plan.

But not yet, the net is still drawing closed. It is my will driving events and is by my will that this drama, this farce will come to an end and the actors unmask. In the end, they will see what I have always known: they will see my stolen face behind their masks.


End file.
